Kiss, Kill
by not the bees
Summary: What if, instead of Dumbledore, Voldemort has Draco kill Hermione Granger in his Sixth Year?


_A/N: I love Dramione like there's no tomorrow, so I plucked up the courage to start my own story. I'm kind of nervous, but I hope you like it :)_

* * *

Chapter 1: You will teach her a lesson

* * *

There was a storm in his ears. The noise was deafening. He pressed one hand to his forehead and wiped the beads of sweat. He kept his head bowed. By now, he could feel his father's piercing gaze on his back.

"Now, Draco. Tell me. Is it settled? Would you like to kill the Mudblood for me?"

The voice was soft and deadly sweet, like a whisper in the night. Draco felt his blood turn to ice. He held in a breath and looked up.

Lord Voldemort was expecting an answer. One word. One single word. Spoken loud and clear.

The face with no features would haunt him in his nightmares. But more than anything, his own face, at that moment, reflected in a mirror, would shatter him.

He smiled a terrified smile and nodded his head.

"Yes, my Lord. Of course."

His father shifted in his seat. Draco wondered if Lucius was proud or simply indifferent.

"Good, Draco. Very good," the Dark Lord continued in the same wispy voice. "You will teach her a lesson, I'm sure."

Draco was now breathing normally. He was picturing it; standing over Granger's body while she lay still and frozen. It wasn't so bad. In fact, it was a little satisfying. She would finally shut her know-it-all mouth. She wouldn't be able to talk back to him or any other Slytherin again. He wouldn't have to see her parading around with Weasley and Potter like they owned the school. He would not be second best anymore.

"And then I will know you are ready," Voldemort finished swiftly.

Hadn't he wanted this in his Second Year? To see her get eaten by the monster in the chamber? This was no different. Except now, he wasn't a child anymore. He didn't believe in monsters locked up in chambers. He believed in the monsters found within.

* * *

His mother came to his room that night. Her face was a tight mask of concern and apprehension.

She started speaking fast, lest he were to stop her.

"Draco. I have been thinking about...about this year. You're starting school soon. But I don't know if Hogwarts is safe anymore. Hadn't we better move you to Durmstrang? You will finish your education there and it will be better for you –"

Draco tried to school his features into placid indifference. "I don't suppose Father knows about this."

"No...no, I haven't told him yet, but if we both spoke to him, he would agree." Her face was both hopeful and miserable. She knew it was pointless changing things now, but she was trying anyway.

Draco hated when she cried.

"But _I_ wouldn't agree," he said quickly, putting on a brave face. "Mother. You know I have to do it. I _want_ to do it."

Narcissa clasped her hands together and sighed wearily. "You don't have to pretend with me."

Draco flushed angrily. "Why would I pretend? Believe what you will, but I've always wanted my chance and now I have it. I'm not going to throw it away."

Narcissa shook her head, her face crumpling with worry. "I know you don't like that girl. You used to complain about how horrid she is. She's always been an enemy. But from this to ...well, it's a big step, my love."

"No. It's – it's only the logical conclusion. She's a Mudblood. Potter's best friend, to boot. And a horrible nuisance. Now, or later, she will die. It makes no difference."

Narcissa gazed at her son with all the reproach she could muster. It wasn't much. On the surface of things, she was supposed to be very proud he had got his Mark.

"I hope you know that you can come to me if you need me. Write or visit or – just know I am here. I'll always be here."

Draco clenched his jaw. Her eyelashes were wet. There was so much love in her eyes. It disturbed him. It made him weak. He rose from his chair and walked her to the door.

"All I need is for you to trust me, Mother," he said in a clipped voice.

Narcissa tightened her hold on his elbow. "It's not you I don't trust."

* * *

His father's only advice was, "Stealth, Draco. Remember whose son you are. _Don't _be stupid. And _don't _hesitate."

He repeated the words in his head until he grew sick. _Don't be stupid, don't be stupid, don't be stupid... _

Lucius was too preoccupied, however, with impending events at the Ministry to give Draco his full attention. He supposed this was flattering; his father trusted him to be strong and smart enough to get this done without any external help.

He was counting down the days until summer would be over, both dreading and yearning for the start of his mission.

At night, he dreamt of her, kneeling in front of him, begging for her life, crying and grovelling. Her bushy hair would be sopping wet with her tears. Her otherwise haughty face would be meek and frightened.

He always awoke with a sense of incompletion. He liked the way she cowered in front of him, but he wanted more. He wanted to be in complete control. He wanted to have all the power over her. If he was going to kill her, he was going to do it right. Her arrogance would be bent into submission.

He wondered how it would go; fast and clean, or slow and dirty?

These thoughts entertained him and made the task seem more enticing and less difficult.

He could not say yet if he would enjoy killing, but he _would_ enjoy taking the Mudblood down.


End file.
